by S. L. Naeole
I’d been prepared for the worst when I started that search, but instead of seeing my naked body on the screen, I’d seen articles about how Franklyn McAvery had been arrested on possession and distribution of child pornography charges since the video and photos he’d taken of me had been made when I was still seventeen. All websites and media outlets, including news stations, papers, and magazines were ordered to take down any and all images of me or else be charged as well.
Mal’s press conference, which had been held three days after I’d returned to New York, had him explicitly condemning Franklyn for his crimes, laying them out without any buffer so that there would be no questions as to whether or not the firing of the creator of Dynalock’s software was a smart move. He also apologized publicly to me and admitted that Franklyn had used a hidden backdoor to the software to access phones, computers, and even cameras to spy on me as soon as he found out where I’d been hiding. Mal then stated that the software was being recoded without the backdoor, and new updates and upgrades would be distributed for free.
He didn’t have to admit to that. Even Franklyn hadn’t admitted to it when he’d struck a plea deal as quickly as possible, netting him sixty years in prison with the possibility of parole after forty, instead of the three-hundred years he was facing after each count. The articles about that admission from Mal noted that after the press conference, Dynalock lost its contracts with the government and over a hundred private corporations.
By revealing what Franklyn had done, Mal had put Dynalock on the executioner’s block and the axe was swung. Every plan that Mal had with that company, including expanding into home security devices, were now dead and it was all because of me.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I’m sorry for not believing you. I’m sorry for not trusting you. I’m sorry for accusing you of…of being a monster and a-a liar, and working with Franklyn. God, I’m sorrier than you know.” I paused, not wanting to break down in front of him. He’d seen more than enough of my tears and I knew that the last thing he wanted was to see more of them.
“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me or take me back; I know that moment was already come and gone. But I do want you to know that I’ll always love you, and I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done for me. I’ve stopped running. I’ve stopped hiding. I’ve stopped being scared, and it’s because you showed me how. Thank you, Michael, for showing me that I can be brave, that I can be bold, that I can do more than just exist. Thank you for also showing me how to love a man and be loved by him. Thank you for the best months of my life and the greatest memories I’ll ever have.”
He said nothing, just kept staring out the window and looking down at his watch, as if waiting for me to hurry up and leave. I couldn’t see his reflection, but I knew that he wasn’t going to turn around. He’d given me his back on the pier in Long Beach and I realized then that he had no intention of giving me anything else. Not his words, not his face, and certainly not his forgiveness.
With sadness, I realized that I had been right about the gift: It was sent to me just to get rid of it. There was no sentiment attached to it. It was simply about finality.
I sniffed. Being right had never hurt so much before.
“Good-bye, Michael,” I said quietly before turning around and leaving his office. The doors closed silently behind me and I hurried down the hallway and past Preeta, who waved, her smile wide and genuine at my departure.
I pushed the call button for the elevator and waited a few painfully quiet seconds before it arrived. Without a second glance, I stepped into the car, keeping my back to the doors until they’d slid shut. Only when I’d heard the familiar ding in confirmation did I fall to my knees and begin sobbing.
He didn’t even want to look at me. He hates me that much!
The elevator car slid to a halt, the doors sliding open and footsteps sounded before a pair of high heels clicked beside me. “Oh dear, are you okay?” a woman with pure white hair and wearing a red pantsuit asked as she knelt down, her hand on my shoulder.
Swiping at my face with my hands, I nodded. “Just…the holidays make me emotional,” I said before I allowed her to help me to my feet. “Sorry.”
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a tissue and handed it to me. I took it with a word of thanks and dabbed at my eyes and then my nose. The car stopped again, and as I turned I saw that we were on the thirty-fifth floor. A man stepped in, a festively wrapped gift in one hand, a worn briefcase in the other. He nodded at the woman beside me and then checked to see if the lobby button had been pressed.
Over the speaker, Bon Jovi sang about coming home for Christmas, and as the elevator continued to fill, people started talking to each other about their Christmas plans. The woman who’d helped me nudged my arm. “And what about you, dear? Where are you off to? Got a handsome young man waiting beneath the mistletoe?”
“No,” I answered plainly, hearing the waver in my voice.
“Oh. A young lady then.”
I offered her a half-hearted smile and a shake of my head, fighting the sniffle and hiccup of hurt that threatened me. “No. I don’t have anyone anymore. It’s just me and my roommates.”
More people filed into the car and soon I found myself pressed into the corner of the car. My eyes flicked up and saw that we were on the twentieth floor. The smell of food wafted in and my stomach whined as I remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything other than a few bites of my food at Kara’s wedding.
“I remember those days, living life as a young, carefree woman with just my girlfriends. Christmas was always a meager affair but one full of love and friendship. I’m sure you’ll have a great time with them. And who knows! You might end up meeting Mr. Right tonight and spend your New Year’s getting laid!” The woman offered me a friendly, reassuring smile and I tried my best to return it.
“I don’t know about that last part, but I will try to enjoy my time with my friends. Thank you.”
“Anytime, dear.”
The car made another long stop, this time on the fourteenth floor. “Oof. It looks like everyone’s leaving to get home to their families. I can’t say that it’s a great thing, us working half days on Christmas, but the payoff is nice.”
“Damn straight,” someone murmured in agreement.
Sniffling, I tilted my head. “Payoff?”
“Oh yes! Having the next three weeks off? Paid? I’ll be welcoming in the new year in my new red bikini and sipping a margarita while my husband sucks on my toes.”
“For fuck’s sake, Charlene. Your husband’s old enough to be my son,” someone in the car complained. “I don’t want to think about my son sucking your toes.”
The woman cackled, her red, pouty lips pulling back in a wicked grin. “Fuck you, Albin! You’re just pissed that I prefer younger men to your walking testimony on the consequences of overuse of dick pumps.”
My jaw hung at her words as around me the car filled with laughter. She grinned at me, one pale blue eye dipping in a wink. “Don’t worry, hun. Nothing I say can offend these old circle jerkers. When you get to be my age in this business, if you can’t hold a room you can’t hold a job, and the only way you can hold a job is by being meaner, crasser, and prettier than they are.”
“You got the crass part right,” the same man grumbled.
“Oh, give it a rest, Albin,” someone else piped in. “Everyone knows you’re still pissed your ex-wife kissed her three years ago at the Christmas party.”
The banter went around the car until we finally reached the ground floor. As the doors opened, I waited for the car to empty. It was only as the crowding eased slightly that I realized that I hadn’t had a single panic attack or hummed once. The woman next to me—Charlene—touched my arm and gave me a wink.
“You have a good Christmas, okay dear? And if you can’t, then have a fucking amazing one! Remember what I said—get laid for New Year’s!”
I gave her as bright a smile as I could muster given the fact that I’d left my hear
t in a million pieces up on the eightieth floor. “Thank you. You, too.”
“Oh, I will, honey! My husband’s twenty-five and can fuck all night!” She moved forward, talking quietly to the others still in the elevator with us as she made her way toward the elevator doors. I watched her exit. I watched as she waved at the security guards before leaving through the massive glass doors fronting the building. Looking at the doors, a part of me hoped that waiting out there, waiting for me, would be Mal. He’d be smiling at me, love and desire plain on his face so that others would know, others would see, and then he’d profess his feelings right there in public. He’d beg me to forgive him, and then we’d kiss and live happily ever after.
Another stupid fantasy that I knew wouldn’t happen because that wasn’t how real life worked. Real life was what happened upstairs when the man whose heart I’d broken had chosen to keep it safe and let me leave without a glance back. Real life was what faced me outside of the elevator doors, where all of my decisions had reached a head and I would have to face the consequences. With a sigh, I stepped out of the elevator and my feet stilled.
Everyone walking past me was heading home to someone special, someone important. They were walking toward presents and futures with smiles on their faces. And I was walking away. As people moved past me, I could only stand there, envious and hurt. A few months ago I’d left this building just hours away from being proposed to, my hand clutched tightly in the grip of the man I loved beyond distraction. The future that he’d placed at my feet had been terrifying and wondrous, and so illuminatingly beautiful that it took everything I had to not want it because I was afraid if I did that future would disappear and leave me with nothing. Now, all I saw was a future that was empty and lonely. Exactly the future I’d feared. Exactly the future I’d carved out for myself with my fear.
Sure, I had my work, my friends, and soon their babies. But I’d realized something scary, something frightening and something altogether amazing while sitting with Holly as she puked her guts up in the toilet.
I wanted babies, too.
I wanted little babies with dark hair and hazel eyes.
And that was never going to happen.
Blinking back another onslaught of tears, I took a step forward before realizing that my shoulder felt conspicuously light. I looked down and saw that my bag was not at my side like it usually was. Realizing that it was probably still in the elevator I turned, hoping that the car had not gone back up yet.
Fortunately, it hadn’t.
Unfortunately, Mal was standing in it with my bag in one hand, the box I’d left on his desk in the other.
“M-Michael,” I breathed, not sure whether I was hallucinating or cursed.
Cursed. I’m definitely cursed.
He approached me, his steps tentative despite the determined—if not completely pissed off—look masking his features. He held out the box to me, daring me with his eyes to take it.
I didn’t take it.
“Open the box, Ria,” he barked, annoyance dripping off of every syllable.
My head tossed back and forth. “No.”
“Why not?”
Do I run through my entire list of reasons, exposing even more of myself to him, or lie and say that I didn’t care what was inside? Would he notice the lie? Of course he’d notice the lie. Hadn’t I just poured my fucking heart out to him upstairs?
“Because it wouldn’t be right to accept a gift from you after what I did,” I said, satisfied with the half-truth.
Without another word, he dropped my bag on the floor and stomped over to me, giving me no time to retreat further away. His free hand took one of mine and then he forced the box into it. Stepping back, he motioned to the box. “Open the fucking box.”
There was that voice again, that steel and iron hard sound that commanded and expected obedience while stroking my ears and heart with the deceiving feel of velvet. Before that voice had been annoying, intimidating. Now it broke my heart, because before I could hear the underlying concern in it. Now there was nothing but anger and resentment, and I was the cause of it. Around us, people were staring, watching intently without trying to hide the fact that they were doing so, their Christmas plans somehow secondary.
With shaky fingers, I pulled off the bow and let it drift to the ground. My heart was stuttering in my chest as I slid my finger beneath a taped edge of the wrapping paper. Each second that ticked by brought me closer and closer to cardiac arrest, I was sure of it. When the paper fell away at my feet to join the ribbon, I carefully lifted the lid off the white box and peeled back the tissue paper inside.
My eyes stared at the box’s contents for a moment before flicking up to his. My hands were violently trembling as I removed a lobster claw key ring with a house key attached to it. A house key and a ring. The same ring that had been on my finger up until a few months ago.
The key and the ring tinkled against each other, and my eyes watered at the sight of them, as if together they made an inseparable pair and had only now been reunited. And my heart burst because I knew that he was taunting me with them, punishing me with the future that might have been if only I’d been willing to look past my own hurt and my own fears and trusted him like he’d asked me to, begged me to.
Nodding in understanding, I placed them back in the box and closed the lid. I stepped toward him and pushed the box back into his hand. “I’m sorry,” I said with a shudder and then moved around him to pick up my bag. As I bent down, I felt his hand circle around my arm. Gently, he pulled me around to face him again, this time without the mask of anger. Instead, there was confusion etching lines around his mouth and between his brows. His eyes were glossy, his lips parted as if in shock.
“Victoria…”
The burn in my chest grew at the sound my of name floating from his mouth. “You don’t have to say anything, Michael,” I told him reassuringly. “I get it. I won’t bother you anymore.” I pulled my arm out of his grip and grabbed my bag before slinging it onto my shoulder.
His mouth opened and shut, as if he couldn’t voice the words he wanted to say. But what could he say? I’d fucked up. I’d ruined everything. I knew that better than anyone and I’d only made things worse by coming here. His eyes told me plainly that I’d hurt him so irrevocably there was no going back. That life he’d talked about, those dreams—they were gone. Dead.
Our future together had never had a chance. Not when I’d been unable to let it happen, unwilling to let the past go and finally move forward.
Not wanting him to see me cry again, I ducked my head down low and walked past him, heading toward the exit as the stares of strangers in the lobby burned my skin. The security guards knew who I was. I realized with each quickening step that everyone knew who I was, and their stares grew fiercer, hotter. I’d hurt their boss. I’d broken his heart. And they took that personally.
“Victoria Abigail Olsen, you said you were done running so you get your ass back here right now!”
Without warning, my feet froze in place at the sound of my full name echoing in the lobby, my hand poised just above the handle to one of the front doors. Silence followed as everyone fell into a hush and any eyes that hadn’t been on me suddenly were, boring through my coat, my sweater, my skin. Mal’s voice, echoing in the lobby, stung my ears even as my heart thundered and galloped in my chest desperately to flee what it and I was certain was more pain. Slowly, almost too slowly, I turned on my heel to face him, my hands clutching at my bag as if it could somehow save me from the wrath I and everyone around us detected in his voice.
The sound of the box clattering to the floor hit me like a gunshot. His hands fumbled with the keyring without once taking his hazel stare from me and I didn’t dare look at anything else because there was something there, something that shook me even as my heart suddenly slowed down, an eerie sense of calm washing over me. The keyring hit the ground after the box with a loud clack, and I flinched at the sound, but still, I looked at him. I looked at him and nowhere
else. All I saw was him. All I heard was him. He stalked toward me like a hungry predator, and like prey mesmerized by some hypnotic dance of colors I took a step toward him.
“How many fucking times are you going to reject me, Victoria?” he half-growled, half-wailed once he was a foot away. I felt the pinch of hurt from the pain in his voice, but the shock of his words and what they meant hit me harder and a soft cry let me at the sound of it. Mal, not noticing or not caring, didn’t stop moving until his arms were around me and his forehead was pressed against mine. Without thinking, my arms automatically looped around his neck, trapping him against me, missing the way he felt, the way he smelled, the sensations that ran through my body with just his scent. Our breaths mingled, and I inhaled deeply, taking in as much of him as I could. His chest rose and fell roughly against mine.
“What do I have to do to convince you to stay with me, to stop running from me, that I want you in my life forever?” he breathed, his words, his voice thick and heavy with heartache and desperation.
Shock coursed through my body in waves of denial and desperation. “How about answer your phone?” I said, hating the way my voice cracked and shook with hurt. “How about not tell your receptionists that you’re not accepting calls from me anymore?”
“Do you think this was something that could be handled over the phone?” he asked incredulously. “Baby, a broken heart can’t be fixed with a fucking phone call. I can’t hold you through the phone. I can’t—” he pressed a rough kiss to my lips “—do that through the phone. And you can’t see my face, see how terrified I am of the idea of never being with you again over the goddamn phone.”
Sniffling, I shook my head, feeling our foreheads rub against each other. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
